The Last Thing You'll Never See
by Misalignedjaw
Summary: After attaining his vengeance in Novac, Boone decides to travel with the Courier. M, FCourierxBoone.
1. One For My Baby

Author's note: First off, thanks for even considering reading this story! Each chapter will be short and sweet, and I plan for it to not go over oh, say ten chapters.

Constructive criticism only, please! I have a tender heart.

This first chapter will pretty much follow the quest "One for My Baby", and that's it, just to get the story situated. Our Courier is based off all the smart-aleck dialogue options that I was afraid to choose in my first run-through, for fear of everyone beating me to a pulp.

Have certain quests that you would like to see in this story, leave a comment or send me a message, and it will be considered!

For now, this will just be a one-sided romance (Courier likes Boone, Boone doesn't really give a damn) and will probably stay that way, unless the story directs it otherwise, or somebody can provide a good argument that Boone could get over Carla, and fall for someone else.

M for bloodshed, violence, cursing, sexual situations, and all that good stuff.

I DO NOT own anything except most of the prose here. All characters, places, items, etc belong to Bethesda Softworks. I'm not getting paid for this.

On to the story, enjoy!

* * *

"Molerat men, come up from the Underneath to steal young women with promises of riches and mud mansions with all the latest designer appliances!"

Creaks in the Courier's beaten leather and rusted steel armor sounded reproachfully at her shifting her weight. Molerat men? Somehow the Courier didn't think the strange sniper, Boone, would accept that, and neither did she. Rex seemed pleased with this intel though, the cyborg-dog's even panting continued happily.

But No-Bark had mentioned the run-down excuse for a hotel, and that was a far better start than hunting down anthropomorphic mole-men. The Courier bid him adieu, leaving No-Bark's mannequin-infested shack with echoes of "If anyone asks, we never spoke" trailing behind her.

A few strides over the colorless cracked pavement later, the Courier was in the Dino Dee-Lite lobby. Immediately she was set upon by the elderly landlady, Jeannie May Crawford.

"I hope you're finding everything to your liking" Jeannie twanged out, small eyes blinking behind the overly large glasses. The Courier made courteous small talk and sat on the blotched couch that must have been a crisp white at some point. Running a hand idly over Rex's smooth, flickering brain case, the Courier attempted at nonchalance while scanning the room. Eventually Jeannie left, but not before casting an odd look to the Courier.

'Right back atcha' the Courier thought and stood, awakening Rex with her footfalls as she crossed the lobby, sending stray linoleum panels shooting across the dirty floor with a kick of her equally dirty boots. As per usual, Rex sat up and let off several sharp barks, informing the Courier that he was, in fact, awake. The Courier narrowed her eyes and scolded him quietly, to which Rex wagged his tail, the canine's whole body rocking with delight.

Kneeling down near a promising-looking safe, the Courier reached behind her head. Her fingers knotted in the tangled locks until the tips brushed against metal. Fingertips grasping, she pulled the bobby pin until it snagged on a tangle and – with a small sound of annoyance – the Courier jerked it out. She plucked most the dark stray hairs off and worked the lock with the tiny piece of metal. A victorious click emanated, and the Courier sorted through slightly- bent forks, crunched packs of cigarettes and bottle caps until spying a neatly folded piece of paper. As she read the "Bill of Sale", Rex thrust his head into the safe, sniffing audibly.

_The Council Officurum…_

_purchased from Jeannie May Crawford…_

_the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone…_

_and those of her unborn child…_

The Courier remained crouched, eyes boring on the phrase "unborn child". She was awakened from this reverie when Rex – not understanding the atrociousness this small scrap of paper communicated – began investigating it with his damp nose.

Immediately standing, the Courier jumped the gray desk, knocking an overstuffed green dinosaur plush off in the process.


	2. Accidents Will Happen

Author's Note: Since the first quest with Boone is named after a Frank Sinatra song, all chapters will be named this way.

Enjoy!

* * *

Making her way out onto the busted road, the Courier spotted Jeannie McBitch – the Courier's new found label for her – idling down the highway. Of course she wouldn't stay in one of her own decrepit hotel rooms. When the Courier spoke, Jeannie turned around, unsurprised.

"I hope you're finding everything-"

"Come with me. There's something you should see, in front of the dinosaur." The Courier cut off the traitor's rambling.

"Okay, if that's what you think." Jeannie replied, already ambling her way towards the green giant. The Courier pulled out the dark beret the vengeful sniper – Boone – had given her. She examined its insignia and motto: "The Last Thing You'll Never See" and smirked at the First Recon's cleverness, sliding it over her head. Then something prodded her thigh. Something soft.

The Courier looked down; eyes meeting with Rex's adoring ones. In his maw he gripped the plush dinosaur, pushing it against the Courier's leg.

"Nah, you keep it." The Courier started, and turned. "Wait here."

Rex, again, let out a pointed bark and sat on his haunches, his affectionate gaze following the Courier as she ran to the patch of rough gravel. The Courier stood, watching Jeannie May watching her. A minute passed in blatantly awkward silence. The Courier let her gaze steer towards the dinosaur's mouth and her body involuntarily jerked as a loud shot rang out, a crimson explosion blossomed in the Courier's peripheral vision.

The Courier searched the body – nothing useful – and jogged to the door embedded in the ancient landmark's side. She met Boone in the beast's open jaw; the sniper seemed unaware of her presence, glaring down at the torn body.

Finally, he turned, "How did you know?"

The Courier stopped herself before she reached into her pocket for the bill of sale; did he know that Carla had been pregnant? Despite his apparently calm appearance, she felt peculiar around him, like he was going to crack at any moment and shoot up the town. Or her. Or just himself. Instead, the Courier handed back his battalion beret; his shaved head looking ridiculous without it.

"I found the bill of sale" This simple statement did not bring verbal thanks, but a few lowly spoken statements, the quick movement of him replacing his beret and enough caps to purchase a handful of desperately-needed Stimpacks.

"What will you do now?" The Courier seemed to do all the talking, and she found that disturbing – she barely spoke as it was, only conversing enough to attain the required information, but Boone was making her look like a chatterbox.

Boone commented that he wouldn't be staying, but wished to trek the Mojave, hunting down and brutalizing legionaries. Shrugging, the Courier offered companionship.

"You don't want to do that."

The Courier stared at him. Who was he to tell her what she wanted?

"I thought snipers worked in teams" She countered, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Hnh. Yeah. Working on your own, you're a lot less effective. I've been there and paid for it. But this isn't gonna end well."

The Courier stood silently a moment, before his mirrored sunglasses flashed with a subtle movement of his head.

"Fine, let's get out of here."

"A bit melodramatic, but I knew you'd come around" The Courier grinned. Once outside the entrance, Rex greeted them, proclaiming his –surprise, joy, anger? – at the new companion with a series of barks. Boone just looked to him and nodded.

"That's Rex. Mess with him, and I'll personally make sure you're his dinner," She pondered with a sigh, "he's getting tired of mole-rat meat."


	3. Dancing on the Ceiling

Author's Note: I know when all Boone fics come to this point, they all deal the same way with Benny, but Black Widow is just too fun to refuse!

* * *

A week –maybe two, Boone didn't know – later Boone found himself trailing the Courier into New Vegas. Traversing around the city brought up memories of Carla – his wife. While the memories were happy – consumed with their laughter as Carla won a handful of red and green chips from a slot machine, or her radiant smile when Boone told her he had booked reservations at the exclusive Gormande restaurant – they still made his nerve endings buzz with pain. Boone's head swam with these frayed thoughts; he drifted behind the Courier as she sauntered from the Lucky 38 to The Tops to Vault 21 like she owned New Vegas. Indeed, many greeted her as if she did. Boone even thought – maybe imagined – the charismatic New Vegas, whom was constantly chattering from the glowing metal hulking on her thin wrist, speaking of the Courier.

"Hey, hey pussycat, welcome to the Tops Casino and Hotel." A Tops Casino Chairman smiled devilishly as they entered. "I'm going to have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be carrying." Surprisingly, the Courier handed all of her weapons over: a weathered 10mm pistol – with a long white scrape coursing down the length – was placed first, a worn out varmint rifle engraved with the skull of a rat and was decorated with sixty nine etched marks – "The Ratslayer"; Rex whined pitifully as this as handed over -, thick rust-colored sticks of dynamite and several blades. Boone handed over what was necessary; he stowed away his holdout weapons, suspicious.

"There's that bastard" The Courier ground out, jerking her head in a recognizing motion towards a man donned in a headache-inducing black and white checkered suit. "Benny." She stood; pretending to examine the multitudes of cards splayed out on the gambling table, but eyed Benny indirectly. Eventually, she sighed, "Guess there's only one way to do this."

The Courier approached Benny, stopping a few feet from him, one hip jutted out. Benny was rightly surprised and even frightened, despite the armed guards around him. And, despite the guns aimed at her head, the Courier began to act very strangely. Her eyes hooded, and one gloved hand played with her hair.

"When you shot me, you ran off so fast I never got your name."

"She's not.." Boone started, looking to Rex for support. He didn't know who this man was to her, but he'd never seen the Courier act this way.

"Arooo?" Rex whined confusedly.

"I'm a courier, remember? Don't you want me to handle your package?" The Courier smiled saucily. While Rex barked alarmingly, Boone and Benny shifted uncomfortably, for different reasons. Boone for an alien twinge that ran up his spine, and Benny for a twinge that ran up a very different part of his anatomy.

"She is." Boone shook his head, a thwarted expression carving into his light face. Certainly this man wouldn't be swayed by such blatant puns.

Seconds later, Benny walked off, a thick smile on his face. The Courier waited a minute before following, an annoyed sniper and a perplexed dog following in her wake. Reaching the elevator, they were carried thirteen floors up. The Courier slipped out and told them both to "wait here" before entering the luxurious suite, closing the double doors behind her. Just before the doors obstructed her from view, Boone noticed a grim – not at all sexy – air about the Courier.


	4. Devil May Care

Author's Note: Enjoy!

* * *

"Die!" The Courier practically snarled, launching herself at Benny. With no weapons to speak of, she began swinging her fists at him, and got in a few good hooks before he pulled out a submachine gun, the name "Maria" scrawled elegantly along its shining black barrel. Benny laughed as he unloaded bullets into her, and the musty yellow wall behind her. New rage sparked through the Courier, memories from what was supposed to be her last night on this God-forsaken planet flooded through her brain, ebbing out any and all reason. Cocking her arms back and crashing her fists into him, she scarcely noticed the bullets ripping through her. Granted, they were light; but the Courier eventually became aggravated and struck "Maria", sending the gun skidding under the queen sized bed.

Benny fell to the floor, scrambling past her, hands wildly delving under the bed for his submachine gun. The Courier didn't relent, but maneuvered to slam her palms into his face. Benny howled in pain, and - pressing the muzzle against the Courier's calf - held the trigger down. The Courier screamed, relenting only a moment before finishing him off with a few strong hooks. Benny crumpled; the Courier slumped against the bed, heaving breaths in.

There was a sharp crack and Boone charged in, wielding a small combat knife; Rex ran to the Courier and whined, attempting to lick her wounds before she shooed him away with a wave of her leather-encased hand. The Courier withdrew a Super Stimpack from her armor, rolled up her sleeve, outstretched her arm, and slid the metal point into her scarred skin. Boone entered just as she sighed in relief, the medicine already working its magic.

Boone glanced from her, to the checkered corpse. The Courier looked up at him and smiled weakly; she bent over the body and rummaged through Benny's deep pockets.

"Gotcha!" The Courier held a platinum chip between her bloodied fore- and middle fingers. With a second's consideration, she wrestled the patterned jacket off of Benny. The Courier glanced at Boone and shrugged, stripping the top of her armor off unabashedly. Boone looked to the decaying wall, but not before noticing a multitude of abrasive scars and purple-on-green bruises on her torso. The Courier slipped the jacket on over her bra and whistled; Boone gradually looked back. She was modeling her victim's ghastly jacket, turning from side to side in various poses. Rex howled appreciatively, and Boone let loose the tiniest smirk.

"I didn't know you were such a Black Widow."

After switching Benny's suit out for a more Mojave-worthy set of reinforced leather armor the Courier led them back down to The Tops' lobby, where weapons were briefly restored to their rightful owners. Boone was just attempting to inquire about who Benny was, and why he was worth trekking countless miles for when they were rushed just outside of The Tops' grand doors.

"The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your accomplishments, and bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark."

"What? Creepy…" the Courier eloquently muttered, giving the Mark a once-over before shoving it into the small leather satchel wound about her hips. Rex growled savagely at Vulpes Inculta, or more accurately, at Vulpes Inculta's hat. Neither act, nor Boone's incessant glaring, seemed to trouble the Frumentarii.

"Oh, hey! I know you!" The Courier chirped. Vulpes' pale lips turned up just the slightest at the corners.

"You know him?" Boone's voice turned icy, the accusation stung the Courier.

"Not in the friendly-way! In the he-threatened-me-way!" Narrowing her eyes at Vulpes she added, "I didn't recognize you at first without that wolf on your head."

"If that canine doesn't stop his ceaseless snarling, I'd be happy to substitute him." Vulpes smirked wickedly.

During this exchange, the Courier felt Boone's hand glide over her waist to her hip, from behind; she felt a few tugs before Caesar's Mark was hurled through the air by the sniper. Boone unholstered his scoped hunting rifle and took the shot, hitting the golden coin that had briefly blazed like the Sun in flight. A quick, piercing sound rang and the Mark landed dejectedly on the dirty Vegas road, a black hole scored through it.

This seemed to unhinge the otherwise apathetic Vulpes; he was on the Courier before Boone could reload, but not before Rex could sink his honed fangs into the flesh of Vulpes' thigh. Through the hail of strikes, the Courier managed to whip out a thick gray hatchet and carve it into Vulpes' shoulder. Finally having backed up several yards and reloaded, Boone took a quick shot, catching Vulpes in the cheek. A few more strong strikes with the hatchet and with Rex gnawing on his wrist and Vulpes went down, crumpling in his dapper gambler's wear.

"Crucify that, bitch." The Courier spat in between painful gasps. Blood leaked from her cheek, neck and arm and when she turned to walk back to Boone, she favored her right leg.

"Are you alright?" Boone placed one large hand on her left shoulder, pivoting her somewhat to inspect her body for damage.

"Nothing a shot o' liquor won't cure."


	5. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Author's Note:

Oh nooooo the liiiiines.

Yes, I know how terrible these pick-up lines are. It was just as painful to write them as it is to read them, I'm sure.

Also, Cherchez La Femme!

A bit longer than the others, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Thank you 3

* * *

The Courier wrapped her hand around Boone's forearm with a sheepish grin and led him, limping, down the Strip. Rex, who was viciously tearing into Vulpes' hat, trotted after them. The trio approached the flame-adorned strip club, Gomorrah.

Through the gambling hall, the drab hallways lined with peeling wallpaper and into the dark room filled with the stench of sweat and the sights of shamelessly-bared flesh they went. The Courier picked her seat at the bar, and unloaded a few Stimpacks into her system while a stripper remarked to Rex "I don't think that's what they mean by doggy-style!" Boone placed himself at the stool next to the Courier, Rex sat on his scruffy haunches a few feet away from them.

The bartender, a female ghoul donned in quite a pretty dress, offered the Courier an assortment of drinks. Boone observed as the Courier straightened her posture, and smiled coquettishly at the bartender while slipping off her gloves.

"These prices are so steep, but I'd rather drink in the sight of you, gorgeous."

Despite the cheesiness of the lines, the two flirted for a couple of minutes before the bartender offered the Courier whiskey "on the house!"

"What was that?" Boone questioned, intrigued.

"What? A girl can't flirt?"

"Not with those lines."

"Psh, please. You've seen what my feminine wiles can do," the Courier winked.

"Get a man killed and get a free drink. Not very impressive."

The Courier gasped, taken aback. "It is too impressive!" Her voice dropped and she turned smoothly to face him, "Like this? I could have anyone I wanted," her hands – for once, ungloved – glided across his rigid abs, up to his broad chest, finding rest there, "Anyone. Even you, Boone."

Boone immediately felt why Benny and the Ghoul had fallen for the cheap pick-up lines. The Courier's hands on him, the way her eyes hooded delicately and her mouth was left slightly open, the lips slightly wet all made him hot under the collar. And other places. Playing cool, Boone gave a noncommittal grunt; this made the Courier giggle attractively.

The Courier purred, one hand idling across his arm, which Boone flexed, seemingly against his will.

"Ooh, I do feel so safe, having such a strong..." the Courier moved from her barstool, elegantly seating herself on his lap, leather-clad legs rubbing slowly against his uniformed ones; Boone grabbed her hips possessively , "…handsome…" she leaned in close – chest against his – to whisper in his ear "…man watching my back." The Courier gently took his hand, and moved it to cup her backside.

Boone's eyes slid closed, enjoying the feel of her; he was consumed with a feeling of intense lust that he could not explain. Boone slapped her ass with a growl; the Courier tilted her head back with a tiny moan.

"Naughty sniper…I might have to take away your rifle." Her hand enclosed boldly on the rock-hard bulge, and he ground it readily against her. Boone moved her hand so he could grind the Courier's hips against his; they both reveled in the ecstasy, unmindful of the surrounding strippers, whores and gamblers.

Boone could feel the searing heat of the Courier and he began to absentmindedly think on how long it must have been since the Courier had done this. Hell, it had been forever since he had been this close to anyone; the last time him and Carla…

And there it was. Boone immediately froze, escaping from the Courier's charms. The Courier seemed to realize her mistake as aptly as the sniper did.

"Oh, God-Boone," the Courier strained, hastily throwing herself back into her seat, "I-I was just proving a point-joking!-joking...point..." The Courier abashedly stumbled over her words, face blotching red.

"Coming here was a mistake." Boone sternly stated, standing quickly and leaving even quicker. Rex whined after him. Boone's heart was pounding as guilt tore at his mind. He was supposed to be being punished, not getting laid. Boone's body directed him out of Gomorrah where he brooded, gazing absently at the eerie Lucky 38.

How could he be so weak as to let his guard down? Sure, several women had approached Boone as the Courier did– maybe not as fervently, or successfully – but he had shooed them off without a moment's thought. Why did the Courier get through? If he ground his teeth and dug deep enough, Boone knew it wasn't just because of whatever power the Courier held so mysteriously over men – and women.

They had fought together, patched each other up; the Courier had even attempted at jokes and entertainment for the sole purpose, he knew, of trying to cheer him up. The Courier wasn't altogether unattractive – in fact, she was the most striking woman he had seen – since Carla. Boone rubbed his temper agitatedly with his knuckles.

The Courier approached meekly: shoulders rounded, eyes downcast; Rex followed her lead, going so far as to stick his bristly tail between his legs. Her limp was still present.

"H-hey, Boone. My leg's not feeling too spectacular, and I know this Doctor back at Goodsprings pretty well." The Courier waited for him to accept the not-so-subtle invitation. Boone did no such thing, but did glance at her leg, seeing the tears in the armor accented by caked-on blood. "I trust him more than any New Vegas doctor, so I think we should head back there for awhile." Boone still didn't reply. "Look, I know things got awkward back th-"

"Fine. Let's go." Boone started out, heading towards the Vegas gates to Freeside. He only vaguely knew of Goodsprings – the battalion would occasionally head out of their way to sip from its clear water source – but wanted to avoid the advancing of the awkwardness. He heard the Courier huff, and hobble after him.


	6. Here's to the Losers

Author's note: Sorry for the slow update. If you ever think about taking an intercession class: don't.

Thanks to all the subscribers, alerters, and even to the anonymous who read this!

Special thanks to Vault108! What a lovely review :) I hope I don't spoil anything for you, and yes, I enjoyed Fallout 3 thoroughly :D. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Again, I own nothing but prose. Unfortunately. Sigh.

* * *

Fate didn't seem to be on The Courier's side lately. Not twenty minutes after beginning the extensive trek to Goodsprings, the trio was visited by a coupling of an adult and a juvenile Deathclaw.

Rex was the first to spot them; he veered suddenly to the left. The Courier sighed and again readied herself for Rex to fetch the murder-present of a rat carcass. When she heard his strangled cries, she spun, gasping almost as loudly as the crack that sounded sharply from her wounded leg. The Courier whipped out a Stimpack, injecting hurriedly before following the canine's yelps.

Rex was writhing with the gray leg of the smaller Deathclaw gushing blood between his pointed teeth, coating his snout in deep burgundy with a few drops decorating his brain case. The Courier had reached for a gun – which, she didn't know – and fired off a shot as she approached. The spray of bullets caught the adult Deathclaw in the face, sending it reeling away from Rex with grating shrieks.

"Shotgun, lucky me" The Courier reloaded, but not in time as the large Deathclaw regained its balance and found a new, immediate purpose in life: To kill, and preferably disembowel, the Courier. It rushed her and was atop her in an instant. The thick, crusty talons adorning one of its feet dug inside her aching thigh, the other found footing in her hip. The horns glanced noisily over the Courier's motorcycle helmet. The Deathclaw reared back and raised its wide hand, talons lackluster with dirt, ready to strike.

Then she was saved. The Courier's handsome hero rushed out of seemingly nowhere, rage and the tinge of worry at the possibility losing his most beloved was engraved on his face. He deftly approached, footsteps light as always and – sunk his canines into the Deathclaw's wrist. Rex's momentum pulled the Deathclaw off of the Courier, although taking a dash of her sinew with him. Pulling out her trusty hatchet, the Courier and Rex began hacking away at the malformed beast.

A shot rang out, and the Courier whipped her head towards the source of the obtrusive noise. Boone had just put down a small Deathclaw that had apparently been striding rapidly towards them in anticipation of bloody, delicious revenge. The Deathclaw's body slid a few feet down the slope of the barren hill is had been quickly descending.

"Nice of you to make an appearance," the Courier ground out, now splayed exhaustively on the cracked, forever beige ground. Rex lay beside her, his heavy panting flaring across the Courier's face, "Ew, Deathclaw breath."

"I was...distracted." Boone provided, or the blur of burgundy, gray and flesh that spoke with Boone's deep voice above her.

"Obviously."

"You have no idea what-" Boone started aggressively, but stopped when he saw the state of the Courier's leg "This isn't good."

The Courier seemed to have no witty retort in store, for in response she simply swayed her head from side to side lightly. Eventually, her head settled on staring at a far-off hill. The hill was a stretch of beige – nice, non-headache inducing beige. Boone searched the Courier for medical supplies, but found only a few empty Stimpacks.

"Damn it."

He rose and removed his shirt, then began shredding it carelessly. He wrapped the makeshift bandages snugly around the Courier's leg.

"Hey."

"Hrm?"

"Spots...are spots usually on hills?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Those spots...black and red...falling down the hill..." The Courier supplied woozily, one hand waving in the general direction of said hill. The Courier heard Boone's sharp intake of breath, and Rex rising beside her, snarling protectively.

"What...?"

"Stay down!"

"Like...I have a choice..." The Courier's return to being somewhat droll was unheard. The shots from Boone's rifle drowned her out, and Rex's faraway sounds of maiming an unseen enemy rang in her ears. These sounds continued, accented by mens' voices.

Was it the Viper Gunslingers again? They were a pesky nuisance, but as the fight continued on for minutes the Courier began to doubt the source of strife was the Vipers. Firstly, the only shots she heard were the familiar repetitions of Boone's rifle and secondly, the Viper Gunslingers were easily disposed of. Two minutes – five, tops – to take down a drove of them. It wasn't until the Courier was jerked up unceremoniously that she realized something was seriously un-Viperlike about this encounter.

"My, what a pretty little thing you are."

The shots stopped, and Rex whimpered loudly somewhere in front of her. The Courier could make out several unmoving spots, and several spots that seemed to be approaching.

"So's...was...your mom..." The Courier all but slurred, "last night..." The blood loss was taking its rude toll on her. The man who presently had the Courier in a choke hold sneered.

"Is that so, whore?" The Courier felt a large hand moving down her body, lingering on her thigh before a searing pain exploded from it. Two fingers wiggled tauntingly inside the wound on the Courier's thigh. The Courier only made a choking sound.

"I think we're done here," the man in her ear announced, and the Courier listened helplessly as there was a heavy thud followed by yet another thud, punctuated with a pained grunt from Boone. The Courier grimaced as she heard Rex's wild whimpering turn to terrified yelps. Suddenly, something rather weighty collided with the Courier's head.

"Let's see if our mighty Caesar has any use for these degenerates."


	7. Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down

Author's Note: Tiny little update. I was attempting to finish the story and post it all one time, but that obviously hasn't happened.

I don't own anything...:'(

* * *

The pain was unbearable, and every time Boone drifted back into consciousness there seemed to be new injuries; these pains started to come in more varied, exciting forms: stabbing pains began in his ribs, dull aches originated in his head and legs and, of course, a splitting migraine settled between his eyes.

Boone would rather have endured the pain; if only he could stay awake for more than two and a half minutes then he would know what was going on, where they were, if the Courier and Rex were okay.

Eventually Boone resurfaced to the intensely bright, sore reality of consciousness. Hulking arms were wrapped around him, slightly lifting – but mostly dragging – him along. The Legion men's arms were sticking to Boone's, adhered with warm sweat; Boone bit back a growl of discontent and continued to play dead. With his eyes formed into the tiniest slits, he glanced around – but all the figures were haloed with a blurry outline of light – owing to the ill-timed migraine and the annoying lack of his darkened sunglasses.

In addition to the two warriors hauling him around there seemed to be only two more Legion men. Constant cursing sputtered from one as his outline occasionally faltered as a fuzzy shadowy mass below him lunged toward Boone with a yap before being jerked back. Whimpering sounded as Rex crouched lower to the ground. Boone's eyes adjusted to the beaming daylight and he became aware of the details. Indeed, four of the Legion held them captive; Rex's tail was bristled between his legs, but the canine continued to sneak looks to the slight right in front of the rest of them.

Boone was met with the sight of the Courier's gaping mouth - blood was smeared across is diagonally, forming a scarlet 'X' on her dirty face. Rage ignited inside of Boone, he knew the Legion used a red 'X' to mark its slaves, the memory came back before he could think to suppress it: Carla, standing on a makeshift platform, burlap tossed carelessly about her attractive frame bulged at her torso; one of the markings was drawn coarsely over the rough material near her shoulder and, as Boone stared through his scope, he saw two crimson lines cross over Carla's rounded stomach.

The Courier was also upside-down – slung over her captor's shoulder, bloodied and bruised knees bent over the man's broad shoulder, causing her thighs to be stretched and strained with the rest of her body's weight, the pressure opened the wound on her thigh even more, letting the gape of red be blistered in the Sun. At least the bleeding had let up, Boone noticed.

The Legion troupe made haste in bringing their prizes to Caesar. Boone was done acting by that time, when the trio were hauled into Caesar's tent Boone sneered at the man. The hate roared inside of Boone, the rising temperature of his blood seemed to sear the insides of his veins. Boone thrashed, trying to throw off his two captors, who – with unrestrained enthusiasm – forced him to his knees in front of Caesar. Rex was made to sit, and the Courier was placed on her knees such as Boone. The Legionare stepped quickly back and the Courier swayed on her knees before falling face-first into the dirt. The lesser-ranking men shared a hearty laugh, but it was quickly silenced by Caesar's disapproving stare. One of them yanked the Courier back into a kneeling position by a fistful of her knotting hair; he held her up like this.

"Bastards!" Boone snarled, Rex howled resentfully. Both were met with a swift strike.

"What's this? You think these spoils worthy enough to bring before me?"

The men bowed their heads, mumbling incoherent apologies.

"The dog – my dog – perhaps is worth it," Boone looked sidelong at Rex, the red bull adorning his furry, yet also mechanical, companion's side made sense now. Boone, of course, had mulled over why the Legion's bull was painted on Rex. Indignation flared up momentarily, feeling oddly betrayed. But when Boone looked fully at Rex, who was whining in the direction of the Courier, he knew he couldn't be mad at the dog.

"But the other two," Caesar waved his stout hand loosely at Boone and the Courier, "an NCR man and a filthy woman? You should have slaughtered the man on sight and enslaved the woman."

"But, Sir..." One of the brawny captors started surprisingly meekly, "This is the...famed...Courier, and her companion."

Caesar's face twitched into a stony mask, and he leaned forward in his throne.

"She's the one who slaughtered Vulpes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you," he stared down Boone, "you helped her?"

"Damn right I did." Boone jumped at the opportunity to take any shot at this cruel ruler – unfortunately; these weren't the kind of shots he preferred.

"Crucifixion is too good for these degenerates. Send him to the slave quarters, and her to the Doctor. Spruce her up just enough to walk. I have a task for her."


	8. Without a Song

Author's Note: So sorry for the long wait, but this one is super lengthy to hopefully make up for it. We're nearing the end!

I am making no money off of this, woe is my bank account.

* * *

"'Kay. I killed the giant robot army. Let us go now?"

"Unlikely."

"Oh, come on!"

The Courier flailed one weak arm swathed in dirty, yellowing gauze, towards Caesar. The other stained arm wound tight around a long, slightly bent piece of metal that was formerly the support beam for the arm of one of Mr. House's robots. Robot bones. Rocking to and fro ever so slightly, the Courier's attempts at intimidation – shoulders squared back and narrowed eyes – were failing horribly.

"Damnit, would you just shut up!" Caesar spat, calloused fingertips seeking out his tanned left temple and working into the tense flesh there. "Now...you need to...Brotherhood..." Caesar went from formidable anarchist ruler to looking like he desperately needed a walker, maybe one with four of those cute little tennis balls on the legs. Without seeming to notice her, Caesar looked around with a bewildered air. Those Legion men that kept constant company in their leaders tent stiffened, only the muscles in their jaws moved agitatedly while their eyes darted to each other, unsure how to proceed.

The Courier had one hand tensed in the dusty air, body angled forward just so – an unfortunate knee-jerk reaction. Straightening, she tossed haphazard glances about. The soldiers offered no help.

"Don't help your dying leader or anything," was muttered before the Courier approached and hazily einspected him. Caesar's body twitched disturbingly several times before his gaze narrowed back in on her.

The Courier arched a brow, "What's up, Doc?"

Caesar leveled her with a warning look before sighing anxiously, "You're making my headache worse."

"Oh, I'm so sorry; it must be the pleasing almond scent emanating from my wound." The Courier remarked scornfully with a pointed gesture to the gash that was now becoming tinged with a blackness just under the skin. "But really: I think something's seriously wrong." After several protests Caesar allowed the Courier to examine him, she delivered him his fate: a lovely-sized tumor lodged in his cruel mind.

"You're going to go fetch tools to either repair the Auto-Doc or to perform surgery on yours truly. Don't get too excited, if you attempt anything my men will tear you and your boyfriend to pieces."

"He is not my boyfriend!" The Courier started exasperatedly then added, leaning in: "Why, do you think he likes me?"

"There's nothing less I could care about in this world than the love between two NCR dogs," he swayed to his feet and Caesar began his less than dignified limp back to the ragged bed.

The Courier bit back an absolutely sharp retort and made a mock bow. The phrase "One fixer-upper, coming right up" trailed behind her as she was escorted out of the tent. Two armed guards followed her annoyingly the whole time, and she took advantage of her necessity by chatting their ears off.

"So, I hear you all like to make the beasts with two backs with each other even more than with the slave girls. Huh, I guess that's what the skirts are for. Consequently, I'm so happy that you all don't insist that they're 'kilts'. Kilts are much more manl-"

"Here's the Doctor, Profligate."

"Thanks fellas, looking forward to talking at you later."

Bent over a patient, the only doctor for miles worked her bony fingers over translucent thread and a dull needle. The Doctor's dark fingers shook timidly as her patient harassed her from before: "Ow! Watch it you stupid woman!"

"I-I'm trying!" she trembled. The Courier ground her teeth and watched, arms folded. When the doctor finished she turned, her eyes widened when she saw the Courier. "It's been so long since I've seen a free woman."

"There's an annoying lack of my kind around here," the Courier offered back. "You're going to hate me, but I need surgical supplies...for Caesar."

"He finally listened to someone about the tumor, did he? He's had me attend to him a few times." Both women watched, with slanted eyes, as her patient exited the tent, aiming a gob of spit their way.

"Lovely."

"Are you, you know," the doctor cast down her thickly-lashed eyes, rummaging through supplies wrapped in discolored burlap.

"Gonna knock him off? Still undecided on that." The Courier heaved a sigh; the doctor hissed harshly to quiet her but the exchange of supplies was made. Leaning her weight onto the makeshift robot staff, the Courier turned and ducked her head, peering out of the tent; spotting her duo of babysitters talking animatedly about "trying her out!" the Courier rolled her eyes and found her eventual way to the Fort's entrance.

Boone was carving seemingly-useless rocks out of the wall of a crevice that maimed the land near the entrance to The Fort. He then placed said seemingly-useless rocks into a wicker basket settled beside a kneeling slave girl. The Courier admired the view of his shirtless, sweaty form but her brow furrowed with worry; more and more lines appeared there as she saw the olive-colored bruises and shallow cuts adorning him. The sniper turned to hack away at the opposite side of the crevice, and the Courier stopped stock-still, hand pressed against her chapped lips. Varying in their forms, the lashes criss-crossed his back: thick and oozing, thin with dark edges and some raised welts, burgundy pressed against the tortured skin.

Hobbling as fast as her lame leg would allow, she approached. Boone was all stillness and raised eyebrows at her.

"You're alive."

"You're alive!" The Courier countered, embracing him fiercely, he grunted from pain; tears welled in her eyes. She batted them quickly away, because she had to be heroic-death-defying-automaton lady. All the time; even when she saw her best friend – hell, maybe her only true friend – in pain, even when she hadn't seen the literal hide-nor-hair of Rex for days, even when this was an impossible situation.

"You think I'm going to let those bastards kill me?" He murmured and held possessively onto her, eyeing the slave-drivers conversing suspiciously nearby. The Courier blushed and cast a daring look over her shoulder.

"Oh, dumb and dumber? I don't think we have to worry about them – to some extent. I've been...a commodity to them," she hedged. Boone pulled sharply back, holding her at arm's length stiffly.

"You've been helping them?" He hissed through clenched pearly-whites. "I've been down here, thinking that they killed you, or worse, sold you off and you...you were just running their errands."

"I had no choice! They would have killed you!"

"Damnit, I'd rather have died than to have them get anything out of you!" He accentuated this with a shove; she stumbled backwards and fell to one knee, the bright metallic staff fell between them.

"Shit!" The Courier gasped. Her hands unthinkingly clenched the gang-greened thigh which, of course, only awarded her a groan of pain. Boone frowned and knelt beside her.

"It's gotten worse."

"Yeah, the boys in red aren't too keen on repairing my primary-escaping appendages. Anyway, that's not why I'm here," she lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, "I have a plan."

"To get us out of here?..." Boone questioned; his hands clenched aggressively on his knees and his head angled down a bit. That little head bow was what he'd always done when a tough problem – one that couldn't be solved with bullets – came their way. The man was no Aristotle, but he was clever. And handsome. And oh so muscul- Oh God, he was talking.

"Sorry, repeat, please?"

"I asked how you think that we can manage that, and if you'd found Rex yet."

The Courier lowered her head. "No...I haven't figured that one out yet. I know where they keep the dogs – they conveniently placed my tent right next to them so I could hear the snarling and barking all night." She heaved a sigh, and then stared back at the stalwart sniper. "But...I don't even know if he's there, I don't even know if he's alive-" The Courier's already hoarse voice cracked, and she scowled at herself. Boone listened thoughtfully and then gave a taut nod. He held out his hand, which was gratefully taken by the Courier; he helped her to her feet.

"I have a plan. They feed us – well, the slaves, not me – rat meat. They keep a few live ones in a cage up the hill. If you could manage to get one of those, Rex would come running."

"I was wrong; maybe you are Aristotle-esque."

Boone didn't question it, but again inquired about the Courier's plans.

"I'll find you, somehow, in a few hours."

Boone narrowed his icy eyes at her, "Tell me."

The Courier smirked the tiniest bit and shook her head. That's when the creeping pair of Legion men strutted over. The Courier was oblivious, even to the look of growing anger on Boone's face – she thought that was on her account – until one of the men gave a short kick to the robotic staff, sending the Courier sideways into the dust. The men guffawed obnoxiously, and Boone delivered an uppercut to one before they turned on him. Muffled thuds and heated groans, even a gnashing growl or two sounded; the Courier hacked a cough and looked u.

"Stop!" She shrieked, but that further enthused the Legionaries. Her gauzed arm stretched painfully, fingertips barely grasping the staff. Seconds later, she was flailing it at the fighters, barely glancing blows off their muscled legs. The fight ended, an unconscious Boone was dragged to the doctor and the Courier dragged back to her tent. She stared at the angled ceiling of her beige tent. The many guards conversed noisily a few feet from where she rested; thankfully the thin canvas protected her from sight. Sitting bolt upright, she gasped at the striking pain throughout her body. The Courier cursed herself audibly before making her way out of the tent. She flew through excuses and even demands with the guards, and eventually wound up back at the overworked, fretting doctor "for supplies for Caesar's surgery. Duh."

The Courier didn't strafe directly towards where Boone sprawled across an under-stuffed cot, but instead spoke with the doctor. How was Boone? Anything broken?

"He's just knocked out. Plenty of bruising and a chipped tooth, but he'll live."

"Good, good...now I need you to help me fake his death."

"What? I-I can't..."

"Oh, sure you can. Just give me a corpse, preferably male."

"One of the slaves died, but I don't understand..."

"Good, the less you know the less likely you'll be to get in trouble." The Courier wracked her brain. "Uh, this is going to be gross, but the best we can do is put the corpse on a stretcher, and put Boone on top, put some covers on but leave Boone's head poking out. They'll – hopefully – just think that you're sending him back down for more labor. Leave the corpse in the crevice where the slaves work. Leave Boone to me after that."

And that's exactly what happened, after the Courier tended to Boone's bedside. She even leaned over delicately, pressing a soft kiss to his unresponsive lips and fitting the corpse with the sniper's cap Boone had given to her during their first meeting. The two women then carried the stretcher full of life and death down. The guards had a hearty laugh as the thin doctor struggled, and the Courier limped and swayed wildly. Despite her fragrant leg, the Courier was able to distract the few guards with a little "Black Widowing". When she was sure the doctor had followed her instructions she gave a flirty wave back to the soldiers before approaching a man she had noticed to be very out of place.

A merchant, with a bulky Brahmin, who apparently was very easily persuaded with a few bottle caps; or, more accurately, all of the Courier's bottle caps and anything the Legion had left on her. The merchant frenzied the Brahmin with a cattle-prod and drove it into the crevice. The slaves fled, screaming piercingly. The merchant managed to wrangle the Brahmin and in the confusion the merchant were able to strap the still unconscious Boone to the Brahmin's underbelly – Odysseus style. And, again in the confusion, the merchant rode off, Boone covered with faded, flowing blanket.

The Courier stuck a folded note into his pants pocket before she silently bid him farewell, and moved violently back up the hill, back into Caesar's tent, where the old men slept, with his ill-intentioned doctor hovering over him.


	9. You Go to My Head

Author's Note: Hello, all! I know I usually switch each chapter from mainly-the Courier's-point-of-view to mainly-Boone's-point-of-view, but I cut that little repetition. It's time for some quality time with everyone's favorite sniper!

Also, for later in the chapter: the Courier sucks at being romantic. :P

I don't own anything or make any money. Wah.

* * *

It had been...years. The worn sniper grunted, "Stop kidding yourself."

Two years, one month exactly. The days he wasn't so sure of, either five or six; when he had awoken, strapped to a sweaty pack animal with the noises of its insides churning to welcome him back to the world of the conscious, he wasn't sure how long they had been travelling. The merchant gave him no information, seeming lost himself. Boone convinced the man in the starchy straw hat and dirt-encrusted overalls to let him be a bodyguard on the way to Vegas. Payment for what he had done.

Days went by on that dark stretch of highway. Boone had kept silent, clutching his rifle that gazed hungrily to the sky. He hedged around asking the merchant what had happened to him. How had he been rescued? What of the Courier? Was she...?

Stomach flipping at these thoughts, he had tightened his jaw and carried on. Guilt became a lead brick settled in the pit of his stomach; all day it weighed him down, and at night it fueled vivid dreams: waving red, Rex's far-off barks, flashes of the Courier looking puzzled, oranges, Carla standing and smiling in the middle of the road, and Xs. Always with those dark red Xs.

Eventually curiosity tore at the edges of his senses, and he picked up a petite, dilapidated radio from another travelling merchant they had passed. Drawling in his handsome voice day and night, Mr. New Vegas regularly sent out cheeky gossip and tempting rumors. The Courier wasn't mentioned for a month. When Boone had just settled down against the warm side of the Brahmin for sleep – well, the occasional unconscious period haunted by nightmares – when Mr. New Vegas crackled out amid his news report: "...been a long time since we've heard news of the solitary do-gooder that roamed the Mojave, now having been identified slightly more formally as 'The Courier'..." Boone bolted upright, and clenched the radio in his strong hands, as if trying to choke out happy news, "...and this silence continues. Where has our hero gone?"

She was next mentioned months later, when Boone watched the greasy head of a Legion soldier explode into clouds of crimson through his scope. The sniper, now returned to his former unit – also again graced with the beloved burgundy beret – could hardly hear the charismatic radio host over the explosions, the screams of rage and the echoes of the dying. "...As... battle for Hoover Dam rages...wonders...where is our...hero...Courier..is now? Is she fighting the Legion...or has she joined them...?"

"Damn it, Boone, turn that shit off! Switch to our channel!" One of his fellow snipers snarled as he reloaded the lengthy gun. Boone's mouth jerked, but he obeyed. Reports of where the Legion flooded in came, and the snipers turned their attentions to their new entrances. There was word of somebody flushing troupes of Legionaries out through the Dam's intake tunnels. At this Boone let his scope drift to the waters lapping against the Dam. Chunks of flesh and stray limbs littered the water, turning it the same color as the snippets of cloth floating on the surface. Boone smirked and doubled his efforts. Word came later of Legate Lanius' downfall.

After they had won, some of the victories at Hoover Dam unnerved him. He had to know. That's how he ended up where he was now. The town's main export seemed to be dust, but the people who lived there seemed happier than anyone that lived within the walls of Vegas; smiles were worn with far more ease here, and help wasn't purchased with chips or bottle caps. Boone stood just outside the quaint town, a few steps off from the sign: "Welcome to Goodsprings!"

Eventually, feeling numb, his graying boots led him into the saloon. He spoke with a few of the patrons, his questions coming readily, smooth and unfaltering on his tongue. One of the men – a traveler – enlightened Boone through alcohol-ridden breath that the last time he had passed through Goodsprings, there was much talk of a stranger – a courier – being buried. Boone's throat tightened, worry flooded his mind and pushed logic away, he had not the mind to ask how long ago this had been. His combat boots turned him, and led him to the proprietor of the saloon. Her accented voice told him where the doctor was, but when Boone ventured to that whitewashed house atop a small hill, he was met with a note taped to the door: "On house call."

It was dusk now, a time that always served to heavy Boone's emotional burden. As he trekked along the dusty road towards the graveyard his entire being was wracked with agony. He had let down the two most important women in his life. One he had loved, and he was the end of her. The other, maybe not love, maybe...flashes from their time in Gomorrah pierced his skull: the Courier warm and giggling on his lap, her subdued voice.

"You fucking coward." He verbally assaulted himself. His military-issue trousers tightened just a bit, and that made him feel all the worse.

He had loved the Courier. It wasn't the same as with Carla, whose love he had to win. The Courier seemed to always have an easy, half-hidden love for him. And he had never returned it. Was it because he felt it would have cheated Carla's memory? Or because he felt he didn't deserve a woman's love, a woman's touch, after what he had done to his first love? Either way, he had all but shunned the Courier's affections. Wracking his brain for memories of perhaps the Courier sulking by the hot glow of the fire or her gazing sadly at him proved futile – there were no such memories, only her small smile, her undemanding laugh and her offhand jokes. She had felt his hesitation, but it never ebbed her love for him. Boone let out a groan of self-loathing, accompanied in the remoteness by pointed barks that were not heard.

As he approached the withering wooden fence laced scantily around the graves Boone mulled painfully over how he had surely ended the Courier's life, as well. If he had taken up her offer in Gomorrah, where would they be now? Maybe they would have settled down, and never been captured by the Legion; he wouldn't have the ragged scars adorning his back, and she would still be alive. All thoughts were cut short when his cold blue eyes fell upon a grave. Removing his sunglasses and gazing at it, he knew it to be the Courier's. It was simple, with an unmarked headstone and a straggly tree growing behind it. Two bullets rested atop the headstone, one for each of the round scars between the Courier's eyes. Boone knelt before it and was silent. No prayers, or tears, came. Just more pain, so much pain. Then, resoluteness.

Boone drew a patched tent from his backpack and set it up beside the Courier's grave. He sat in it a long while before reaching down into his shirt – his cold hand producing goose bumps on the tough skin – and retrieving a note, written in a surprisingly feminine hand.

"Dearest Boone,

If you're reading this note then I'm already dead.

Just kidding...hopefully. But the important part is that you're alive! Sorry, I know you're mad at me for what I did, but it was the only way

because I love you

If we never meet again – which we totally will – carry on without me, forget your past, forgive yourself.

Love, always,

The Courier"

Boone then retrieved his death note – or notes, rather – one to Carla, one to the Courier. Boone removed his shirt; barely feeling the cold sting at his skin. Indeed, he didn't. He threw it to the ground – he wanted whoever it was that found him to see the lashes on his back. Boone got on his knees, putting the three notes in a messy semicircle in front of himself – with the Courier's handwritten note in the middle – and retrieved his handgun from his pack. Making sure it was loaded, all his muscles relaxed.

"I'm sorry, baby." Boone let one arm fall placidly to his side.

"I'm sorry, Carla." He tilted his head back, Adam's apple bulging.

"I'm sorry...Courier" The lack of a name should have felt strange in his mouth, but it didn't. Neither did the gun's barrel as it found rest inside his mouth.


	10. It All Came True

Author's note: Last chapter. I'd like to thank all the lovelies who reviewed and to everyone who read! I hope y'all have enjoyed it. :).

This chapter contains sexually explicit content - children, hide your eyes!

I own nothing, save for a dirty mind.

* * *

"-the fucking fuck!"

Metal and flesh collided with flesh. The fur was thrown into the mix, with even more metal. Way too much metal.

The cold gun, always unendingly hungry, especially in the self-loathing sniper's hands sounded off. It pierced a miniature hole in the tent, letting in a small view of the dark sky above, a star or two glimmering unknown to the three entangled together.

Rex eventually settled on skirting around the Courier and Boone, yapping at them unceasingly. The Courier's blood hissed with a merging of blind rage and shaky relief, she struck him hard across the face, sending Boone unceremoniously onto his backside. Palms digging into the dirt, he stared up at her, mouth agape for a moment before hardening into that familiar line. The Courier stood heaving above him, eyes alight and fists clenched.

His eyes took her form in, he sucked in a jagged breath as he found her normally leather-clad leg sheathed in metal. Or perhaps not sheathed, but with growing repulsion and, of course, a sprinkling of guilt he realized it was an entirely new attachment. This was informed by the hint of Mojave-tanned flesh on her hip just above the start of the metal that seemed to be sewn in with steel twine. The leg ranged from the always fashionable gunmetal straights and gears that connected it to the opposite leg to aid in motion to rusty brown bolts laced in lines about the appendage. Rex sat on his one hairy and one industrial haunch beside her; they made quite a pair.

"Yeah, we match," the Courier growled tartly and grabbed him tightly by the arm, dragging him jarringly, with a little heaved difficulty, and settled him atop of her grave. The Courier made him face the tombstone. Boone was stock-still.

"You want to die! You want to know what death is like? Because I've been there! And," she sighed, and couldn't come up with anything deeper than: "it sucks! It's not a release. For me, it was just nothingness. You think nothingness would be good for you? So you can brood," she gestured her hands wildly here, "alone! Well that's not any fucking different from what you do every damn day, Boone!" Here, she circled in front of him; he did not meet her eyes, which elicited an indignant huff from the Courier. "Except all those faults you find with yourself, you can't fix them! If you want to redeem yourself you have to live."

"I was." Boone snapped his eyes to her's finally. "With you, but then you were gone. I thought you were-"

"Dead! No. I killed Caesar, and somehow managed to escape the blame for that. After that the Legion didn't really care, so I left with Rex." the whimpering canine received an affectionate pat, "I saved the President. I killed Legate Lanius and a whole bunch of other Legion pricks. And you know how I did all the goody-goody stuff? Because I was alive!"

The Courier had tears in her eyes; she wasn't sure from anger or from just seeing Boone. She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him tightly, her fingers roamed over his back, along the numerous prickly scars. The Courier shuddered and sighed as Boone wrapped the Courier in his strapping arms.

"I need you to redeem myself."

Both pulled back and wasted a second or two before the Courier shrugged lightly, figuring there was no time like the present. She started to lean in, but Boone beat her to it and captured her lips. The Courier's eyes flew open in surprise, and somewhere Rex panted – somewhat disturbingly, given the situation. She soon leaned into the kiss as Boone's hands roamed her body after brief hesitation, which gave little flinches when his calloused hand ghosted over her right patchwork hip.

He wasn't as the Courier had fantas- ahem, expected; the Courier had expected Boone to be all about spending his pent up rage in bed – and while there was some of that she could tell he was trying to be gentle.

Boone shifted his hands back and grabbed her ass tightly, pulling her into his lap. The Courier's sharp gasp reallocated its pitch into a wanting moan. Through her tight pants he could feel the searing heat between her legs, and she could feel his dick – oh so hard and throbbing – as she ground against him. The Courier's nimble hands worked frantically, tearing off anything that kept her from his skin. His shirt went one way, her's another and he was almost smacked by her flying bra. Finally, it was scarred skin against scarred skin, but the Courier definitely didn't mind.

Boone thrust his hot tongue into her mouth, and explored every inch, she moaned into the kiss. The Courier drug her short nails down his chest, and he growled animalistically, ending with him pushing her deftly onto her back. Boone was on top of her in a flash, rough hands wandering over each breath before squeezing each, the Courier awarded him with a pleased moan and gliding her fingertips down between their bodies. The Courier practically purred as she found his cock above her hips; she gripped it and ran her hand up and down it a few times, Boone groaned as his cock twitched in her hand. Boone lowered his head to her neck and peppered it with smart bites while his fingers worked at her nipples.

The Courier rubbed her thumb over his swollen head, Boone's hands found her wrists; he pinned her hands – fingertips glistening with his pre-cum – over her head. Boone kept her pinned with one hand and used his other to grip the girth of his cock and rub the head against her soaking wet slit.

"Please," the Courier mewed, writhing against his hard body.

"Please what?" The Courier felt his heated breath against her earlobe, his tongue gently playing with it – now that just wasn't fair.

"Fuck me!" With that, he pushed the tip inside of her; the Courier gave a half-restrained whimper. Boone took one breath, then another, and then rammed all the way inside of her; the Courier cried out.

Boone began working his thick length in and out of her slowly. The Courier slammed her hips against his, spurred on by Boone's growls and groans of pleasure. Taking the hint, Boone picked up the pace; his hands grasped her hips possessively while her's clawed into his flexed shoulder blades. Again, Boone captured the Courier's lips and she kissed him back with just as much passion. She boldly slipped her tongue into Boone's mouth, and his tongue slid hotly against it.

"Boone!" The Courier moaned – Boone gave a small grin and pounded into her faster; the Courier let out a short scream. By now both were slicked by sweat, and the Courier was feeling a delicious tightness that she hadn't felt in way too long – personal time wasn't exactly the best idea when trekking the Deathclaw-infested Mojave. Boone leaned his head onto her shoulder and nipped from her collarbone to her neck and her eyes fluttered closed; their rapid breathing matched. Boone's thrusts became deeper, and soon after the Courier gave in and felt waves of intense pleasure shoot through her. The Courier gripped his muscled arms and moaned, gasping "Yes! Yes!"; Boone followed seconds after with a loud growl. The Courier felt his hot cum spill inside her and she cooed lovingly. Both lay there, a sweaty heap of grins and chuckles.

"Well, that was even better than I thought it'd be," Boone smiled against the Courier's shoulder. The Courier pulled back and raised a brow archly. "What? Can't ignore animal instincts..." he ended with a murmur, trailing a calloused fingertip along her neck.

"Mmm, so what did it for you? – the oh-so-sexy scars or the Terminator leg?" When Boone looked confusedly at her, the Courier rolled her eyes, "Nobody watches old movies anymore."

They rolled onto their respective sides, and Boone wrapped her tightly in his arms, "Everything."

"Everything?" The Courier probed, to which his gave a quiet nod. "Me too."

At this sentimental point, both Mojave warriors became aware of a strung-out whining emanating from the corner of the tent. There sat Rex – bra slung over his braincase, wiry fur on end and looking ready to bolt at any minute.

"Sorry, Rex." Boone muttered with a smirk, to which Rex gave another lengthy whine and rested his head on his hefty paws.

"Good idea, all of us need to catch some 'z's." The Courier informed happily, nuzzling into Boone's chest, "I think it's about time we start making headlines for Mr. New Vegas again."

"That's the best news I've heard in a damn long time." Boone responded. Rex wandered over and lay across the couple's feet, which were beginning to chill. The three heroes settled down to a surprisingly peaceful slumber in an NCR-issued tent, beside the Courier's – and almost, Boone's –grave, ready to start anew at the first sign of that hazy sun on the irradiated horizon.


End file.
